“So, what you’re telling me is even though they're guilty, and hell, even though I don't think they're even good enough to be on the starting lineup-” I started.
“I'm not asking you to put them on the starting lineup, Wade. That would be crossing a line.
But I am asking you to allow them to at least come back to practices and have the opportunity to improve their game so they can have a chance at making the starting lineup.”
I breathed in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “This is bullshit,” I said softly. “But I don’t have much choice here, do I? Fine, whatever. Send them back. It's pointless for me to fight this battle anyway, isn’t it, Jack?”
“Thank you for understanding,” he said. “I'll be off now.”
“Have a great afternoon,” I said coldly and flatly.
He still couldn't look me in the eye. He got up, smiled weakly, and hurried out of my office.
After he shut the door, though, I exploded. I grabbed the nearest thing to me – a thick encyclopedia of sports medicine – and flung it with furious force across the room. Then I slammed my fist down on the desk and cussed as loud as I could. I sat down and fumed with anger and frustration for a good few minutes. Why the hell was everything going so badly right now?
Despite the hangover, I felt like I needed another drink to deal with all of this. I got out my phone and typed a quick message to John.
Hey, buddy, how's the day going? Feel like a beer or five after work?
The response was almost instant. I could always count on John being up for a drink.
Wade! Definitely down for a drink later. How big you wanna go? How bad is it? There's a bar downtown with a special on pitchers tonight.
I typed a quick response.
Pitchers sound like just what I need right now. I’ll call you after work.
*****
“So I say to her, 'but you haven't even seen it yet! C'mon, don't knock it until you try it!’”
“And then what happened?” I chuckled stupidly, my head swimming from the alcohol.
“Then she just snatched up her handbag and walked out of my place, still in her bra and G-string!”
We both laughed loudly, and John called the waitress over. “Hey, sweetie, one more pitcher, please.”
“Whoa, hold up, hold up,” I said as the waitress turned to go get our order. “I'm not sure if I can handle one more, John. Shit, man, I still need to work tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I guess I do, too. All right, all right, just bring us the bill then, would ya?”
The waitress nodded and hurried off to fetch the bill.
“Thanks for a good evening, man,” I said to John. “I needed the distraction.”
He smiled at me. “No problem, bro! But, man, I can tell something is up with you. And it's not that stuff about those two, fake-tittied little vixens you had to let back on your volleyball team. Come on, I know when something serious is up with you.”
I wanted to tell him all about Eryn and myself, but I just couldn't. Not yet. It wasn't for fear that the secret would get out and I'd lose my job. I knew I could trust John with pretty much anything.
No, it was because it was just still too painful to talk about. I mean, after all, I'd come out to the bar and drank so much because I wanted to forget, to try to numb the pain. Dredging it up would just make things worse.
“Nah, it's really nothing, man. It's just stress from the job.”
“You sure, Wade?”
He didn't seem convinced, and of course, I was lying – but I couldn't talk about it yet.
“Yeah, man, I'm sure,” I replied.